Hermes lay on the stiff mattress, staring at the ceiling, his ears twitching involuntarily at every sound.
And there were a lot of sounds.
Bangs echoed through the walls—fists or feet slamming against metal, the desperate attempts of someone trying to escape or vent their frustration. Screams followed, raw and jagged, carrying the weight of fear and agony. Some were distant, muffled by the thick walls, but others were disturbingly close.
Hermes clenched his jaw, his hands gripping the rough blanket as he tried to shut it all out. But it was impossible.
A loud, guttural cry tore through the air, abruptly cut off by a sharp gunshot. Hermes flinched, his tail bristling.
"Can't sleep?" Rin's voice broke the silence of the cell, though it barely rose above the cacophony.
Hermes glanced over. She was sitting cross-legged on her mattress, her back pressed against the wall. Her golden-orange eyes glowed faintly in the dark, unblinking as they watched him.
"How can anyone sleep with… all of this?" he asked, his voice low but tense.
"We probably don't," she replied simply. "Not for a while."
A muffled sobbing drifted through the walls, fragile and heart-wrenching. Hermes felt his chest tighten. "How can they just… do this to us?" he muttered.
Rin leaned her head back, closing her eyes for a moment. "They don't see us as people anymore. We're just experiments to them. Tools." Her voice was cold, but there was a bitterness beneath it that betrayed her anger.
Another scream pierced the air, followed by the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor. Hermes swallowed hard, his claws instinctively extending as his body tensed.
"What do they do to the ones they take?" he asked, though part of him didn't want to know the answer.
Rin opened her eyes, fixing him with a steady gaze. "We don't want to know."
A crash reverberated through the walls, followed by more shouting. Hermes sat up, running a hand through his smoke-colored hair. His ears twitched uncontrollably, picking up every little noise: the metallic clang of chains, the whimpers of someone nearby, the faint hum of fluorescent lights.
It was maddening.
"I can hear everything," he said, his voice strained. "I can't… I can't block it out."
"Welcome to being a feline," Rin said, her tone dry but not unkind. "Your senses are sharper now. It'll take time to get used to them. If we ever do."
Hermes sighed, resting his head in his hands. "How do you deal with it?"
"I don't," Rin admitted. "Not really. But you learn to focus on one thing at a time. Like your breathing."
He tried to take her advice, inhaling deeply and letting the air out slowly, but it did little to drown out the chaos around him.
Another gunshot rang out, making his ears flatten against his head. He winced, his claws digging into the mattress.
"I hate this place," he whispered.
"Yeah," Rin said softly. "Me too."
For a while, neither of them spoke. The noise continued, a relentless assault on their nerves, but there was an odd comfort in knowing they weren't enduring it alone.
Eventually, Hermes lay back down, staring at the ceiling again. He didn't think he'd get any sleep that night, but at least he wasn't the only one awake in the dark.
…
…
The morning came far too soon. Hermes barely felt rested, his mind still reeling from the night's horrors. The sound of heavy boots outside the cell startled him, and before he could sit up, the door swung open with a sharp creak.
"You," a guard barked, pointing at Hermes. "Get up."
Hermes hesitated, his tail flicking nervously.
"Move it," the guard snapped, stepping closer.
Rin watched silently from her mattress, her expression unreadable. She didn't say a word, but her eyes met Hermes's briefly, a flicker of caution in her gaze.
With a deep breath, Hermes stood and followed the guard out of the cell. The hallway was cold and sterile, the air thick with the smell of disinfectant. He was led through a series of winding corridors, passing doors that were tightly shut. Behind some of them, he could hear muffled screams or the faint hum of machinery.
The guard stopped in front of a large metal door, punching in a code on a keypad. The door slid open with a hiss, revealing a brightly lit room filled with medical equipment.
Hermes froze.
In the center of the room was an operating table, and on it lay a boy. He couldn't have been older than Hermes, his body frail and trembling. His skin was mottled with patches of shiny, dark scales that glistened under the harsh lights, and his wide, panicked eyes darted around the room.
Tubes and wires protruded from his arms, legs, and chest, connected to machines that beeped and whirred ominously. Dark crimson blood flowed steadily through one of the tubes, dripping into a series of vials arranged on a nearby table.
"Move," the guard barked, shoving Hermes forward.
Hermes stumbled, his gaze locked on the boy. "What are you doing to him?" he demanded, his voice shaking.
The guard didn't answer. Another figure stepped into the room—a scientist in a pristine lab coat, holding a syringe filled with a viscous, dark-red liquid.
"Ah, our Maine Coon," the scientist said with a detached smile, as if commenting on a lab specimen. "You'll be the first feline to receive the salamander serum. A compatibility test, if you will."
"What?" Hermes's ears flattened, his claws instinctively extending. "You can't—"
Before he could finish, two more guards grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides.
"Let me go!" Hermes thrashed, but their grip was iron-tight.
The scientist approached, holding the syringe up to the light. "This serum contains unique regenerative properties extracted from our salamander friend here. If it works, your body will heal faster, even from severe injuries. If it doesn't…" The scientist shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, that's what we're here to find out."
Hermes's heart raced as the needle pierced his arm. He gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out as the burning liquid entered his veins. His muscles tightened involuntarily, his vision blurring for a moment.
The scientist stepped back, watching him intently. "Fascinating," he murmured, jotting down notes on a clipboard.
Hermes's breathing was ragged as he looked back at the boy on the table. The boy's eyes met his, filled with terror and pain.
"What about him?" Hermes asked through gritted teeth.
The scientist glanced at the salamander boy, then back at Hermes. "His contributions are invaluable. Rest assured, he's served his purpose."
Hermes felt his stomach churn, rage bubbling beneath his skin. "You're monsters."
The scientist raised an eyebrow, unperturbed. "We prefer the term pioneers."
The guards released Hermes, shoving him toward the door. "Return him to his cell," the scientist instructed.
As he was dragged away, Hermes couldn't tear his eyes from the boy on the table. The last thing he saw before the door slammed shut was the boy's face, pale and defeated, as more blood was siphoned from his body.
The rage in Hermes's chest grew, burning hotter than ever. They would pay for this. All of them.
Back in his cell, Hermes slumped onto the stiff mattress, his mind reeling from what he'd just seen. The salamander boy's face lingered in his thoughts—haunted, broken. He clenched his fists, his claws digging into his palms as a wave of guilt and rage washed over him.
Rin sat on her own bed, watching him silently. She didn't ask questions, but her sharp orange eyes studied his every movement.
Hermes couldn't sit still. His body felt… off. His veins burned faintly, and his skin tingled like it was alive in a way it hadn't been before. He looked down at his arm, running his fingers over the faint outline of the injection site.
"What did they do to you?" Rin finally asked, her voice quiet but laced with concern.
Hermes didn't answer right away. Instead, he grabbed the sharp edge of a loose screw sticking out of the wall near his bed. With a deep breath, he dragged it across his forearm, wincing as it sliced through his skin.
Blood welled up immediately, pooling around the shallow cut. Rin's eyes widened, but before she could say anything, the wound began to close.
Hermes stared in awe as the edges of the cut knitted themselves together, the blood disappearing as if it had never been there. Within seconds, his arm was whole again, leaving only a faint line of fresh, unblemished skin.
"Regeneration," he muttered, flexing his fingers as if to test the limb.
"That's… incredible," Rin said, leaning forward. But her tone wasn't entirely positive—it carried a mix of amazement and unease.
Hermes's expression darkened. "It's not worth it," he said bitterly.
"What do you mean?"
"They injected me with blood from some kid," he said, his voice low and filled with anger. "He was strapped to a table, barely alive, while they drained him dry. That's where this comes from. His pain. His suffering."
Rin's face hardened. "They're using us," she said flatly. "Every part of us. And they don't care who gets hurt in the process."
Hermes nodded, his jaw tightening. "I hate it," he said, his voice shaking. "I hate that I'm… happy about this." He flexed his arm again, watching the smooth skin with a mixture of gratitude and disgust. "This might save my life one day. But what about his?"
Rin didn't respond immediately. She leaned back against the wall, her gaze thoughtful. "It's okay to be angry," she said after a moment. "But don't let them win. Don't let them make you like them."
Hermes looked at her, surprised by the conviction in her voice.
"They want us to be tools," she continued. "Weapons. But we're still people, no matter what they do to us."
Hermes sighed, leaning his head against the cold wall. "It's hard to remember that in a place like this."
Rin gave a small, grim smile. "That's why we remind each other."
The room fell silent, save for the distant echoes of screams and machinery. Hermes closed his eyes, his thoughts swirling with a storm of emotions. He couldn't forget what they'd done to the salamander boy, but Rin's words gave him a small, flickering hope.